"It doesn't seem like a girlish accomplishment，exactly，"he mused."When I was young and went into the West，the times were a bit unsettled，and I used to carry a popgun myself.But I never shot at a human being in my life.There were women in the camps that could shoot，too；but the safest place was always in front of them.If Beth has won a medal，though，she might hit something.""Don't try，Beth，"said Louise；"you ought to make a hitwithout shooting.""Thank you，dear."As they left their hotel for a walk they came upon Count Ferralti，who was standing in the court calmly smoking a cigarette.His right hand was still in a sling.
No one was greatly surprised at his appearance，but UncleJohn uttered an exclamation of impatience.It annoyed him that this fellow，whose antecedents were decidedly cloudy，should be "chasing around"after one of his nieces，Beth and Patsy smiled at each other signi?cantly as the young man wasdiscovered，but Louise，with a slight blush，advanced to greet Ferralti in her usual pleasant and cordial way.
There was no use resenting the intrusion.They owed a certain consideration to this boyish Italian for his assistance on the Amal?road.But Uncle John almost wished he had left them to escape as best they might，for the obligation was getting to be decidedly onerousa.
While Ferralti was expressing his astonishment at so "unexpectedly"meeting again his American friends，Uncle John discovered their English speaking cocchiere，Frascatti Vietri，lolling half asleep on the box of his victoria.
"Would your energy like to drive us this morning？"he asked.
"It is my duty，signore，if you wish to go，"was thereply.
"Then you are engaged.Come，girls；hop in，if you want to ride."The three nieces and Uncle John just filled the victoria.The count was disconsolate at being so cleverly dropped from the party，but could only flourish his hat and wish them a pleasant drive.
They descended the winding road to the coast，whereFrascatti took the highway to Sant'Alessio，a charming drive leading to the Taormina Pass.
"By the way，"Uncle John asked the driver，"do you knowof a duke that lives in this neighborhood ？"The laughing face of the Sicilian suddenly turned grave."No，signore.There is the Prince di Scaletta；but no dukeon this side the town.""But on the other side？""Oh；in the mountains ？To be sure there are noblemen there；old estates almost forgotten in our great civilization of to—day.We are very progressive in Taormina，signore.There will be a fountain of the ice cream soda established next summer.Quite metropolitan，ne c'e？""Quite.But，tell me，Frascatti，have you a duke in themountains back of Taormina？""Signore，I beg you to pay no attention to the foolish stories you may hear from our peasants.There has been no brigandage here for centuries.I assure you the country is perfectly safe—especial if you stay within the town or take me on your drives.They know me，signore，and even Il Duca dares not tri?e with my friends.""Why should he，Frascatti，if there is no brigandage？Is itthe Ma?a？""Ah，I have heard that Ma?a spoken of，but mostly when I lived in America，which is Chicago.Here we do not know of the Ma?a.""But you advise us to be careful？""Everywhere，illustrissimo signore，it is well to be whatyou call the circumspectiona.I remember that in the State street of Chicago，which is America，peaceful citizens were often killed by banditsb.Eh，is it not so？""Quite probable，"said Uncle John，soberly."Then，what will you ？Are we worse than Americans，that you fear us？Never mind Il Duca，or the tales they foolishly whisper of him.Here you may be as safe and happy as in Chicago—which is America."He turned to his horses and urged them up a slope.The girls and Uncle John eyed one another enquiringly.
"Our duke seems to bear no good reputation，"said Beth，in a tone so low that Frascatti could not overhear."Everyone fears to speak of him.""Singular，"said Uncle John，"that Patsy's friend turns outto be a mystery，even in his own home.I wonder if he is a leader of the Ma?a，or just a common brigandc ？""In either case，"said Patsy，"he will not care to injure us，I am sure.We all treated him very nicely，and I just made him talk and be sociable，whether he wanted to or not.That ought to count for something in our favor.But my opinion is that he's just a gruff d old nobleman who lives in the hills and makes few friends.""And hasn't a name，any more than Louise's count has.
Is it customary，my dear，for all Italian noblemen to conceal their identity？""I do not know，Uncle，"answered Louise，casting down her eyes.
